


Tête à Tête

by Homicidal Whispers (HomicidalWhispers)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomicidalWhispers/pseuds/Homicidal%20Whispers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t really tell what’s going on, of course. It’s enough to know that he doesn’t like what he sees. Levi, cold Levi, unsociable Levi, seems to have opened up to Armin.  He has a small smile when he speaks to Levi these days, one that had never been there before.<br/>One that used to be exclusively reserved for Eren. It’s not like Eren doesn’t want Armin to have other friends – in fact, he most emphatically encourages it. But that smile, that particular brand of smile, so secret and intimate, has always been reserved for him alone, no matter how many others Armin meets. Eren really doesn’t like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tête à Tête

**Author's Note:**

> english is _italics_  
>  german is normal writing  
> french is french (but hover for english subtitles)
> 
> thanks to [queenie](http://doctor-queenie.tumblr.com/) and [marbles](http://estellecampanella.tumblr.com/) for all of their help on this fic! trust me, this would've been an absolute disaster without them.

Armin always speaks in English when he first wakes up. It’s an ingrained instinct that he’s kept as he’s grown older, even though it’s been years since he has had anyone with which to speak the language regularly. He’s not a morning person either; he grumbles and fusses and rolls before leaving the bed. Eren thinks, secretly, that it’s when Armin’s the most adorable.

Eren is always the first to wake up of the boys in the 104th squad and everyday without fail, the first thing he does is go to Armin’s bunk to begin the long process of waking him. For a moment, he just looks, taking in Armin’s ridiculous bedhead and the drool that has accumulated over night. He takes a minute to listen to the snores before he rests a hand on Armin’s side and shakes him.

“Wake up, Armin,” he says.

“ _Five more minutes_ ,” he mumbles back in English. Eren can’t stifle the slow smile he feels spreading across his face.

“ _No_ ,” Eren answers. “ _You need to wake now._ ”

“ _Bossy,_ ” Armin says and rolls over. He promptly goes back to sleep, but he’s not snoring this time and his breathing is less even. As always, he needs to wake up in increments. This is not to say that Armin _can’t_ wake up when he needs to – there had been a fire in the camp once. Armin had been one of the first to wake up and he’d been remarkably clear-headed in a room full of confused teenagers. Had it not been for his quick wit, there would have undoubtedly been more injuries and more damage.

No, this whole song and dance was because Armin knew he could get away with it. He knew Eren would never let him sleep in for too long and trusted him to get him up in time. Eren leaves him for a moment so that he can get ready; this early, there is no one else awake to get in the way and he can take his time. As the others begin to rise, he returns to Armin’s bedside.

“ _Wake up_ ,” he murmurs.

“ _In a minute_.”

“ _That’s what you said twenty minutes ago_.” Armin grumbles and Eren lets the issue rest. He lowers himself until he’s sitting on Armin’s cot, playing absently with his blond hair. Armin turns away from the sun streaking out from the window and presses further into Eren’s palm. In the beam of sunlight, he looks divine, celestial. He lets out a sigh on contentment and Eren knows he’s finally close to waking. When he sees Reiner go to shove Bertholdt off the bed, he gives Armin one final shake. His eyes slit open at last, revealing blue eyes clouded over with sleep.

” _Eren_?” he asks and then yawns hugely. Despite the morning breath, Eren is charmed. Unable to help himself, he presses a kiss to Armin’s head. When he pulls back, Armin is smiling softly, like he wants to hide it, but is too muddled to conceal it entirely. “ _Good morning_.”

Armin’s accent is thickest when he first wakes up, drawling over vowels and slipping over consonants, emphasizing in places he normally wouldn’t. Eren loves how Armin sounds when he speaks his first language; he’d learned to speak English originally just so that he could hear it more often, even though Eren disliked how he sounded when talking. Eren helps him to his feet and shoves him in the general direction of his clothes, making a sincere effort of his own to conceal his smile.

There were others in the 104th training squad that spoke English, but they spoke different versions of it. Connie’s family was American and Sasha was Scottish. Their accents, compared to Armin’s, were bland and annoying. In Sasha’s case, her accent was so thick as to make her speech nigh incomprehensible.

One time, the talk turned to heritages in general. With the invasion of the Titans, people from all over the world had fled to the safety of the three walls. As a consequence, people with all different cultures and backgrounds were smushed together, an amalgamation of different people from different places. Most people spoke two languages, German and the language of wherever their family had come from.

"I only speak German," Eren confided.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Reiner had said. "Me and Bertholdt too."

"Besides don't you speak English too? I've heard you in the mornings," Connie had answered.

He patted Armin on the shoulder. "I only know what this guy taught me, but I'm not that good. I speak at a toddler's level, and I can't read or write it at all."

"You're selling yourself short," Armin chided. "Your English is very good."

"But I'm nowhere as good as you. You're like a supergenius or something." Eren looked around the table. "He's fluent in five languages."

"I only know four and I'm only anywhere near fluent in two of them," Armin amended modestly.

"That's still impressive," Marco said. "Which ones? German and English obviously, but what else?"

"I taught myself Japanese after I met Mikasa," Armin said, "and I also know some French."

"I'm French," Jean put in.

"But you never speak it unless you're writing home to your mommy," Eren jeered. “That hardly counts.”

“Just because I don’t like speaking it, doesn’t make me any less French, idiot!” Jean shot back, rising to his feet. “And what about you? Armin learned Japanese for Mikasa, but you couldn’t be bothered? What kind of friend are you?”

Eren slammed to his feet. “She didn’t want me to learn!”

“You wanna fucking go?” Almost simultaneously, Marco and Armin stood, coaxing their friends back into their seats and talking them down from a fight.

“So, Armin,” Marco said awkwardly, to alleviate the tense silence developing. “Why French?”

He shrugged, his hand clasped around Eren’s under the table to help him keep calm. “Besides Germans, there are more people that originally came from France behind these walls than from anywhere else. I figured it might come in handy one day.”

* * *

The thing is, no one really knows anything about Lance Corporal Levi. There’s a lot of rumor and myth shrouding the man; the most popular seems to be that he was some kind of thug before Erwin convinced him to join the Scouting Legion, but no one can say for sure. There’re people who know, of course, but they keep quiet about the whole thing, respecting Levi’s privacy and, more likely, amused by the aura of mystery the man likes to keep up.

And amusing it might be, but he _is_ enigmatic. No one knows anything about him – no one even knows for sure whether Levi is his first or last name. Eren doesn’t care that much. As long as Levi continues to be a capable soldier and a tolerable commanding officer, he is not concerned. Most of his friends subscribe to the same philosophy, which is why he is so surprised when Armin sits down next to him, frazzled and visibly frayed around the edges

“Do you know,” he starts gloomily, “what the worst part of my job is?”

Eren laughs. “You’re the first one to get promoted and all you do is complain about it?” he says, but the teasing is obvious. “What’s so bad about it?”

“It’s having to work directly under Levi,” Armin says over him. “He treats all of his subordinates like we’re dogs and he expects us to know his orders before he says anything. And do you know how hard it is to file paperwork? He won’t even tell me how his name is spelled!”

“Why don’t you just ask, then?” Eren asks.

“Don’t you think people have already tried that?” Armin returns, scoffing. “Why would he be any more inclined to tell me?”

“I meant ask somebody else that would know. He hangs around Erwin and Hanji a lot, maybe one of them?” He scans the room until he spots Hanji’s signature ponytail and perpetually askew glasses and waves her over. She comes eagerly – a bit too eagerly to be honest. Eren likes her well enough, but she’s still frightening, and he’s fairly certain some of the tests she tries to recruit him for are highly unorthodox.

“Armin here was wondering if you could tell him how to spell Levi’s name,” he says the moment she is within earshot, because he learned the hard way that it was best to never give her a chance to speak first. Otherwise, conversations with her have a tendency to quickly take a turn to the eccentric and uncomfortable.

“For paperwork,” Armin adds.

“R-I-V-A-I-L-L-E,” she answers easily.

“Rivaille?” Armin says slowly, sounding out the syllables and testing the name out. “That sounds kind of French, doesn’t it?”

“That’s cause it is,” she says. “I know I don’t look it, but that’s where my mother’s family came from also. I don’t know where my father’s from; he stuck around just long enough to give me his name before disappearing. But people from the same place tend to live in the same areas, so I grew up nearby him.”

“So you were childhood friends?”

“Not the way you two were. He’s a few years older than me and I didn’t know him personally until we met later in the military.” She pauses and tips her chair back thoughtfully, balancing on the two hind legs with her arms crossed. “But everyone knew of him though. He was always a troublemaker and getting himself into messes. He was a menace until the military got a hold of him. I think the reason he put up with me those first few months was because I spoke the same language he did.” She laughs fondly.

Eren nudges his friend, hiding a grin of his own. “Looks like learning French finally came in handy,” he said.

* * *

Truth be told, Eren never really expected it to work, and he didn’t expect Armin to actually attempt it. He figured it would be one of those things that would be considered and quickly forgotten, perhaps surfacing a few months later as some kind of inside joke between them.

Armin finds him at breakfast the next morning. Eren slides over to make room and Armin slips into the space next to him, absently stealing a piece of bread from his plate. “I wrote yesterday’s report in French,” is the first thing he says. He bites his lip, looking troubled and distracted and Eren’s heart clenches.

“Morning to you too,” he says. He smoothes down Armin’s frazzled hair, tucking errant strands behind his ear. “What report?”

“The one I have to do at the end of every day, remember? I wrote yesterday’s in French and the corporal is going to kill me,” he says. He puts his face into his hands, looking almost hysterical. “I just decided to do it at the last minute. Why would I do something so impulsive?”

“I’m sure he won’t over-react even if he doesn’t like it,” Eren tells him soothingly. “He’ll appreciate the thought behind the action.”

Armin throws him an unconvinced glare. “This is _Levi_ that we’re talking about here. He’s not appreciative of anything. His mood is either pissed or unimpressed, and there’s no in between.” He slumps down into his seat and says nothing else. He steals more of Eren’s meal, but that’s fine because Eren always takes extra for that very reason. Even his chewing is somber and morose, like he’s expecting to be struck down at any moment and is only waiting for the onset of the inevitable.

The doors to the mess hall swing open once more and Levi steps in. Despite his short stature, he has a powerful presence and as always, his arrival draws immediate attention. He can see the soldiers in the hall lower their voices respectfully, taking care to sit straighter and eat neater. Trash is dumped into the garbage bins and people subtly wipe down the tables.

Levi scans the hall and then walks in their direction. Eren jabs Armin in the side and whispers, “Don’t look now, but Levi’s heading this way.”

Armin straightens, looking panicked, just in time for Levi to sit at the table across from him. He crosses both his arms and his legs. On anyone else, the prim posture would be almost comedic, but on him, it’s just intimidating. Sensing Armin’s anxiety, Eren edges closer and takes his hand under the table, offering some small measure of support. Levi eyes them both for a moment before speaking

“Le rapport d’hier," he says, addressing Armin. "C'est toi qui l'a écrit?"

“Oui,” Armin answers.

“Tu parles français,” Levi says musingly. "Qui te l'a appris ?"

"Je l'ai appris tout seul," he says, "quand j’étais jeune."

Eren is left gaping at the two of them. He’d managed to catch the word “yes” in there somewhere, but other than that, he hadn’t understood anything at all. He is able to read the atmosphere though; it seems as though Armin’s gamble has paid off. At the very least, Levi doesn’t seem to be annoyed and Armin stops looking as if the world were going to come crashing down around his ears at any moment.

They’re drawing a bit of a crowd, full of people who are eavesdropping and trying hard to pretend that they’re not. Eren highly doubts that the majority of the people listening in understand what is being said any more than he does, but it doesn’t really matter. There’s an appeal to this language that Eren had never noticed before.

Levi speaks with the casual aloofness of someone speaking their first language, syllables slurred and drawled into each other. His voice changes, too; it becomes less abrupt. Instead, he speaks melodically and rhythmically, his voice rising and falling with the cadences of his sentences. There’s a beauty about it that Eren would have never before associated with the insensitive, cold corporal.

But while most people are focused on taking in this new side of Levi, Eren is entirely enraptured with his best friend. Despite keeping up the conversation admirably, this is not a language Armin knows well. It’s a language he learned a long time ago and never had occasion to use again. He stumbles a bit, brows furrowed, and takes long pauses to sift through his vocabulary for the word he’s looking for. He stresses his words too hard, too, and he over-enunciates in an attempt to procure a passable accent.

Still, it’s like when he’s speaking English. Eren can’t help but watch him, to watch the shape of his mouth and movement of his tongue over the foreign words. While he speaks he fidgets, probably because he’s worried about making mistakes. He runs his thumb over their still clasped hands, rubbing over Eren’s knuckles soothingly, compulsively. The other fidgets with his hair.

“Ca vous plaît?”

“Ne joue pas avec moi," he snaps. “J’apprécie que quelqu’un d’autre le parle. Si tu dois me parler maintenant alors j'aimerai autant que tu le fasses en français."

"Je suis désolé," Armin says. Eren knows what that means, but Armin doesn’t appear sorry at all. He’s got a small smile playing about his lips, like Levi had told some kind of joke.

Levi scoffs and stands. “Si tu as fini, nous avons beaucoup de travail à faire. Emmène ton ami. Hanji a encore d'autre tests qu’elle veut mener sur lui."

Armin stands too and pokes Eren in the side. “He wants you to come,” he says.

“Me?” Eren says. “What for?”

“More work with Hanji, I’m afraid,” he says and conceals the laugh that bubbles up when Eren blanches.

“Je n’ai pas toute la journée,” he says. "Dépêche-toi!"

"Oui, eh," Armin pauses. "Je ne connais pas votre rang en français."

Levi’s expression doesn’t change, not really. He still looks as apathetic as ever, eyes at an uninterested half-mast, his mouth pressed into a flat line. Still, there’s still _some_ change and suddenly, Levi has a look that Eren’s never seen on him before. He looks, for a moment, fond, almost pleasant. It’s the scariest thing to witness.  “Caporal.”

“Oui, Caporal Rivaille,” he says. Levi’s expression relaxes even more, if possible. Armin follows him out of the mess hall and Eren follows Armin. There’s something weird here, and whatever it is, Eren most emphatically doesn’t like it.

It only gets worse once they arrive at Hanji’s office. The three of them babble in French to each other and he has no idea what is going on or what’s being discussed. He catches his name a few times thrown in there; they’re talking about him, but he doesn’t know what is being said.

“Je veux tester les capacités d’Eren, en particulier sa capacité de guérison. S’il est d’accord, nous lui donnerons quelques petites blessures et surveillerons la façon dont il en guérit. Je veux aussie lui faire des tests de sang et salive," Hanji says happily. "Nous ne savons pas à quel point son Titan est similaire aux autres. Donc, ce serait parfait si nous pouvions analyser ses réactions à la douleur et autres stimuli, et voir si elles sont les mêmes pour tous les Titans."

"Ne soit pas stupide," Levi says. "Qui serait d'accord avec ça?"

There’s a moment of silence. Both Hanji and Levi and Armin turn to look at Armin. “Oh, am I meant to translate?” he asks.

“Évidemment.”

Armin looks at Eren for the first time since they left the mess hall.  “Hanji wants to run some more tests,” he says and then explains what she had in mind.

“When you say minor injuries,” Eren says, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

“Nothing too bad. You’ll have to give consent before we do anything, anyway, so you can always refuse,” Hanji says. She drags him along behind him to the exit. “Armin, you can come watch if you want.”

Automatically, Eren throws out his free hand, waiting for Armin to take it, but he does not. He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he replies. “I’ve got to work to do for the lance corporal.”

* * *

The thing is, Eren reflects, Armin almost always chooses to stay by him whenever the chance arrives. After all, the opportunity doesn’t come often; despite both being a part of the Recon Corps, they work in completely different sectors – Armin works in tactics and strategies, and Eren in combat and Titan testing with the scientists. They usually only see each other at meal times, so whenever they can be together, they take the chance.

It’s surprising the first time Armin decides to stay behind. The second time is disconcerting. The third time is flat out irritating, and it only continues from there. Eren stops staying with Armin when he can, too, because all of Levi’s other underlings have mysteriously vanished, leaving only Armin and a room full of talk he can’t understand. They still meet for meals, but Levi and Hanji nearly always eat with them now. The three of them speak rapid French to one another, completely excluding Eren from the conversation. He doesn’t have anyone else to fall back on either, because the rest of his friends have started sitting elsewhere, too intimidated by the presence of their superior officers to stay.

It’s just as bad the few days the lance corporal isn’t with them, though. Armin and Eren finally a chance to talk, yes, but Armin spends the entire time talking about Levi. He’s somehow managed to become his unofficial assistant; if Armin is in the room to translate, he won’t bother talking in German at all anymore. Everyone has noticed and commented on the change, asked Eren what was going on. Each time another person asked, he felt worse having to say that he didn’t know.

He can’t really tell what’s going on, of course. But he knows enough about Armin to read his facial expressions. It’s kind of like hearing not one side of a conversation, but maybe something close to a quarter of it. It’s enough to know that he doesn’t like what he sees. Levi, cold Levi, unsociable Levi, seems to have opened up to Armin. He’ll nudge Armin and murmur something in that damnable language, knowing full well that no one besides the two of them will understand, and Armin will smile giggle like Levi’s told some joke. He has a small smile when he speaks to Levi these days, one that had never been there before.

One that used to be exclusively reserved for Eren. It’s not like Eren doesn’t want Armin to have other friends – in fact, he most emphatically encourages it. But that smile, that particular brand of smile, so secret and intimate, has always been reserved for him alone, no matter how many others Armin meets. Eren really doesn’t like it.

“Dude, you need to relax,” Connie tells him as they’re sparring, looking at him oddly. Eren realizes he’s been forgetting to pull his punches; if any hits had actually landed, there would’ve been a serious injury. He stops and takes a deep breath. He stares at his palms, forcing them to unclench. “You good now?” Connie asks. Eren nods.

“Don’t mind him,” Jean calls. “He’s just pissed because his boyfriend’s been ignoring him.”

“Who, Armin?” he asks. He looks over to where Armin is, at the edge of the courtyard, surveying the sparring with Levi. He’s holding a clipboard and every few moments, Levi will say something and Armin will jot it down. Eren bets he’s writing it in French, too, which is completely unnecessary and useless and aggravating.

“Whoa, I see what you mean,” Connie says, sounding awed. “He looks homicidal. Maybe we should take a break.”

Eren sighs. He doesn’t want to stop, but he can realize that he needs to calm down or someone eventually will get hurt. There are deep crescents scored into his palm, and a few drops of blood have welled up. The last thing he needs is to spontaneously transform.

“Jean, you speak French too, don’t you?” he asks as they sit to the side, toweling off the sweat they accumulated during their exercise. “Why don’t you ever talk to Levi?”

“Are you insane?” Jean says. “I’m not getting near Levi with a ten-foot pole. I hate to say it, but Armin’s got some serious balls, trying what he did.”

“But if one person already tried it, shouldn’t it be fine?” Eren replies.

Jean shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe the lance corporal’s got a sweet spot for the kid. He’s always got Petra hanging around him too – maybe he just has a thing for light-haired girls.” As he speaks, he puts his hands up to show he’s joking; he’s learned over the years that Eren is quick to jump to defend his friends, usually fists first.

Eren scowls at the jab at Armin, but moves past it for the sake of civility. “But you know what they’re talking about, right?”

“What, right now? No, they’re too far away for me to hear anything.”

“You know what I mean, asshole. In general.”

Jean accepts a skin of water from Connie, who is pretending not to be listening and failing spectacularly, and takes a long pull before responding. “Work, mostly,” he answers eventually. “Paperwork, upcoming missions, nothing too exciting. Occasionally Levi will ask for his input on some idea Hanji or Irvin has come up with.”

“So then why is he always laughing?”

“Man, you’re acting so jealous that it’s ridiculous,” Connie tells him. “Maybe jokes are funnier when you say them in French.”

“That makes no sense,” Jean says, irritated, but he offers no other explanation. A whistle blows and all around, people stop their fights and begin their cool down and post-workout stretches. Eren, who had already finished that, waves goodbye to Connie and Jean and jogs over to where Armin is still standing by Levi.

Levi’s still dictating in French, going at a normal talking rate. Armin scribbles furiously to get everything down, his tongue poking out of his mouth the way it always does when he’s concentrating. “One second, Eren,” Armin says when he notices his presence. He finishes the last word with a flourish and shakes out his hand, cramped from writing so much. Absently, Eren takes it between both of his own and massages the soreness away.

“Thanks,” Armin says, smiling. He turns to Levi. “C'est tout?”

“Oui, j’ai fini. Tu peux prendre ton déjeuner maintenant." Eren’s starting to hate the sound of this language. "J'espère que je ne vais pas trop te manquer.”

“Je pense que je m'en sortirai." Armin says the words solemnly, but Eren sees the laughter in his eyes. There was some kind of joke that he was missing yet again, something only the two of them were privy to. “Vous venez avec nous?”

“Non, pas jour. J’ai un rendez-vous avec quelqu’un.”

"Un rancard? Avec qui, Hanji ou Erwin?" he responds rapidly, and again, his words sound teasing.

” _Un rendez-vous_ ," Levi repeats, his voice dangerous. Armin laughs out loud this time. “Maintenant, déguerpissez."

“Come on, Eren,” he says, switching languages seamlessly. He walks away, pulling Eren along with him by their still connected hands. The cramp must be gone by now, but Eren doesn’t let go.

“Where are we going?” Eren asks, bewildered.

“Mess hall. It’s time for dinner, isn’t it?”

“Yeah but,” Eren hesitates before plowing on, “it’s just us? Levi’s not coming? Or Hanji?”

“They’re busy,” he says cryptically. “Why, did you want them to come?”

“No,” he says. It comes out a bit too quickly to be normal, but he thankfully doesn’t comment on it.

Without their commanding officers there, their friends feel comfortable returning to the table for the night. It’s the easiest meal he’s had in a while, and all of it is perfectly understandable to Eren. It’s nice. Eren knows that he’s touching Armin more than normally – sitting closer together, resting a hand on his thigh, moving his hair out of his face, wiping gravy off of his face. Still, Armin lets him get away with it without comment, tossing him an unreadable but undoubtedly fond look every now and again.

“I think I’ll head off now,” Armin says, not too long after Reiner and Bertholdt leave the table. They’re usually the first to go, just as Connie and Sasha are usually the last remaining. “Are you coming?”

The question is directed at Eren, who nods. He quickly drains the rest of his bowl and shoves the last bite of his bread in his mouth. “I’ll see you all later,” he says.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Armin chides and Eren sticks out his tongue, remnants of food and all. He scrunches up his face in disgust, but his mouth turns up at the edges, giving his amusement away.

“Where are you going? The dormitories? The library? I can walk you there,” Eren offers.

“Actually, why don’t we go to your room?”

“My cell, you mean,” he says drily. “Don’t try to sugar coat what it is.”

“Your cell, then.”

Eren can’t really see why Armin would want to go there of all places. He may have his little room to himself, the first personal space he’s had since his childhood home in Shiganshina, but it is by no means pleasant. The room is dark and dank. It’s perpetually drafty no matter and the guards, no matter how unobtrusive they try to be, are never too far away. Besides, it’s hard to feel too fond about a place when most of your time there is spent in chains.

Armin pulls out a set of keys and opens the door. Eren stares. “How did you get that?” he asks.

“Levi gave them to me.” He shows Eren the ring of keys and ticks each one off. “This is for here, obviously. This one’s for your cuffs. This one’s for his office, and this is for Hanji’s. And this one’s to the cleaning supply closet.”

“He _gave you_ his keyset?”

“Of course not,” Armin answers flippantly and tucks them securely away. The two of them go to sit on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room besides a drawer for Eren’s clothes. “I only have copies of the ones he thought I needed most.” It makes sense that Levi’s assistant would have that, but that only makes to make Eren’s seething worse; the level of trust Levi and Armin had developed seemingly overnight was unfathomable. If they got any closer, they’d be practically living together.

Still, Eren takes comfort in the knowledge that Levi obviously doesn’t know Armin that well. Armin might look innocent, but he isn’t above trickery or deceit. Giving him free reign to the keys like that was naïve – Armin was sure to abuse its use if he thought it would benefit him or his cause. Even right now, Armin’s impromptu visit is technically a violation of the rules.

“You see,” Armin says, pointing at his face, “that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about. I bet you don’t even know what kind of expression you have on right now.”

“What expression?” Eren throws back, more harshly than he wanted to. Still, Armin’s not offended. He smiles gently and leans forward across the space between them and cups his palms around Eren’s face. He brings his own hand up to cover Armin’s, feeling tension he hadn’t noticed leaking out of him as Armin’s warmth seeps into his pores.

“You’re jealous,” he says. Eren immediately stiffens, but Armin’s hands keep him from withdrawing. "You’re jealous," he repeats.

“Of what?”

“The time I spend with Levi,” he says. “You needn’t be. The corporal’s a good person, and I like being able to speak another language sometimes. But he’s not you.”

Armin looks too serious right now. It makes Eren want to look away, to clear his throat, to put some space between them. But Armin still cradles his face in his calloused hands and Eren can’t move away without losing that comforting warmth.

He feels something flip in his stomach, lurching like it’s trying to run away and leave the rest of his body behind. “And who am I?” he manages to ask.

“You’re Eren, of course,” Armin says, and his tone sounds so confident, so sure. “You’re everything.”

Before Eren can absorb what he’s said, before he can divine what he means by that, Armin leans in and presses their lips together. “This okay?” he says when he pulls back.

“We’ve done it before,” Eren answers, but it’s automatic. This is different than the childish kisses they’d shared when they were younger and curious. This is more than just comfort after a grueling day of training. This is not something to be brushed off and forgotten, the way all the others before this were.

Armin gives him a flat, unimpressed look. “You didn’t answer my question,” he points out and Eren realizes that no, he really didn’t. He knows that answering this question will change things, but at the end of the day he will still be Eren and Armin will still be Armin.

“Yeah,” he exhales on a whoosh of breath. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

It takes a lot of effort for him to be able to say that, because Eren’s never liked making himself seem vulnerable. But this is Armin, who has seen him at his best and at his worse and took it all in stride. This is the same Armin that opened up his arms and hugged him after Eren admitted to killing people as a kid. This is the same Armin that burnt his own body to get Eren out of the titan’s body and never once complained.

He knows that Armin knows how much effort it took for him to say that, but Armin doesn’t comment, just waits. Eren’s nervous, but he’s never been hesitant. He shoves Armin’s hands off of his face and then takes them within his own, uses them to reel Armin in to him. He has enough time to see the smile return bright to Armin’s face before they meet again.

Even if it’s the first time with real intent, it’s not like it’s their first kiss. Eren already knows the shape of Armin’s mouth under his and the feel of Armin’s tongue in his mouth. He lets go of Armin’s hands and sets them carefully on his hips, on the bit of skin exposed where his shirt ends, but before his pants begins.

“Just so you know,” Armin says when Eren draws back, “I certainly didn’t do _this_ with the lance corporal.”

Eren doesn’t answer, but his face must show his distaste for the idea because Armin laughs. The sound reverberates through the empty room; it’s been a while since he heard Armin this lighthearted.

“You’re ridiculous, Eren,” he says, fond and bemused in equal parts. “It’s not like he’d go for a kid like me. And it’s not like I’d want him when I see you. You’ve got nothing to be jealous about,” Armin assured him.

“I can’t help it,” he mumbles. He buries his face in the hollow of Armin’s clavicle, kissing the dip out of impulse. He’s close enough to hear the way Armin’s breath hitches when he does it and hear the why his heartbeat speeds up. He sucks a wet, messy mark into the skin there.

“Come here,” Armin says, voice unsteady.

Eren looks up at him in confusion. “I’m right here.”

“No,” Armin says. He tilts his head meaningfully and Eren follows the movement to see the bed, the one comfort this place allows him. Meaningfully, he repeats, “Come _here_.”

The idea alone of Armin on that bed is enough to have him walking. Armin pushes him down and climbs atop him, settling astride his lap while Eren leans against the headboard. The chains are visible in his peripheral and they rattle ominously whenever they shift. It’s put-offing, but Armin is more than enough to distract him from that.

Somehow, it’s different kissing like this. Their lips meet again and when Armin opens his mouth, Eren licks his way in without grace or finesse. He moves on instinct, licking the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth and sucking his tongue. It shouldn’t be hot, as gross and sloppy as it is.

And yet, it is. Armin moans into his mouth and Eren laps up the sound greedily. His hips jerk, and he can feel the hardness in Armin’s pants. It’s overwhelming and embarrassing, so he draws away.

Armin chases him, puts his fingers into his hair and presses their forehead together. He presses down, copying the movement Eren made, reassuring him that it’s okay. Tentatively, Eren lets his hips rock up again and Armin meets the motion and stifles a little noise.

Eren’s hands come to Armin’s waist to steady him as the situation quickly unravels. He’s been keyed up and tense all week, after all, and he’s wanted Armin for even longer. It’s obvious that this won’t last very long. Soon they’re rutting against each other, biting and breathing into each other’s mouths.

Eren tenses and then comes with a low groan, feeling Armin’s eyes on him all the while. He doesn’t stop moving while Eren fights to recover, sounds falling out of his mouth faster than before. Before Eren can think it through, he’s shoved his hand into Armin’s pants and grabbed hold of his cock.

He doesn’t do anything for a moment, just sits there stupidly and wonders at his actions. He’s started to mentally catalogue the difference between Armin’s and his own when Armin says, “Eren, _please_ ,” and he remembers that he had a purpose in doing this in the first say. He curls his hand into a loose fist and jacks up and down as best as he can within the constraints of the fabric. He’s done this to himself enough to know that this alone can’t possibly be satisfying, not with the movement this awkward and uncontrolled.

Armin doesn’t seem to be complaining though. He shudders in Eren’s arms and moves even wilder than before. The little gasps and aborted moans come louder and more frequent than before, so he doesn’t stop. It only takes a few pulls for Armin to come into his hand.

Armin looks up after a moment, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face. Eren clumsily extracts his hand and makes a face at the cooling tackiness on his palm. After a moment of hesitation, he wipes it on the rucked up sheets. Somehow, that seems to diffuse the air between them and Armin collapses, laughing on his chest.

“Did you seriously come in your pants?” Armin snickers and Eren flushes.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, pushing his face into Armin’s blonde hair. “It was your fault.”

“You’ll need a shower,” Armin says. “And you’ll have to do the laundry, for the sheets too. Can you imagine the look on Levi’s face if he sees this mess?”

“I really,” Eren tries, “really don’t want to talk about him right now.”

Armin settles down and the two of them share a quiet moment. “I need to get back to work,” Armin says eventually. “Lunch ended a while ago. I need to get back before they start searching for me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Eren says and struggles to his feet. “I’ll go wash up and then get back myself.”

The two of them leave Eren’s cell, Armin making sure to lock the door behind them with the keys he’d nearly forgotten on the floor. They head back upstairs together until the place where they split off comes up. Armin kisses him quickly before going the other way.

“I’ll see you later,” he says. The words are not at all a platitude, and his voice is low and secretive. The keys jangle merrily as he walks away. Late that night, Armin does in fact show up back at his cell. Eren doesn’t know how he slipped past the guards and he doesn’t bother to ask. Instead, he shifts over and invites Armin into the bed and into his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> alright listen up. i began writing this when i was a very new fan and that snk country of origin chart had been floating around tumblr. at the time i thought it was canon and accepted it as such even if i didn't necessarily agree with what it said.
> 
> since i knew some french, i decided to write this. when i realized that thing was someone's headcanon, i felt reluctant to finish this up but i had already spent so much time on it...so i decided to finish and post it.  
> in other words, if you disagree with my depictions of race/ethnicity/whatever in this fic, that's cool. i disagree with my depictions too. that chart isn't law, and i know that. it was just fun, cause i happened to know the language, yeah?
> 
> also yeah i know the whole rivaille/levi thing is kinda bullshit but whatever what's done is done.
> 
> besides, i really can't help shoving levi between these two and making them jealous.


End file.
